


Cry Wolf

by inber



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Come Marking, Come Shot, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/M, Masturbation, Messy, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Objectification, Oral Sex, Sharing, Spitroasting, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: Reader x Witchers. Drabble smutty one-shot. I wanted to write drabble without the filling that I always seem to feel obligated to provide (as in: why are they in the tavern, what’s the relationship, who where etc etc). I did just want to write PWP smut without much backstory, and I think I accomplished that. Short, but goodness me, dirty.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 173





	Cry Wolf

Eskel slows his smooth thrusting behind you, pinching his teeth together. “ _Fuck,_ Geralt—she’s fuckin’ coming _again._ ”

“I told you she’d love this.” Geralt’s voice is the scratch of sandpaper as he watches you from his sofa, lounging like a lord with sprawled legs, slowly fisting his weeping dick. You moan around Lambert’s cock and let Eskel’s hands hold your hips up as you shudder bodily, your walls fluttering around the Witcher as your orgasm – the fourth? Fifth? You’ve lost count – sweeps through you. Lambert pants as you drool around his length, your pleasure vibrating against his skin.

“She has _such_ a sweet mouth.” Lambert praises, speaking as though you’re not there in front of him, servicing him. Through the last shivering clutches of your orgasm, Eskel picks up his pace, and the two Witchers find a companionable rhythm once more.

“Now you understand why I travel with her.” Geralt sounds amused.

It had been a surprise to meet the two wolves in the tavern, but Vizima was a busy city, and there were an unusually high number of contracts there. When Geralt had introduced you to the two handsome, statuesque men of his guild, you’d learned two things; firstly, they had a sense of smell as keen as your master’s, and it didn’t take them long to work out that you were _excited_ to meet them. Secondly, much to your delight -- wolves _share_.

There’s a hierarchy, of course, but Geralt has that well established. They’re using you at his direction, with his blessing, and he’s drunk with the debauched sight of it. Both of the other Witchers have come already – Lambert does not want to give up your mouth, which he has gleefully spilled into twice, and Eskel is more than happy to flood your aching, messy cunt. The floor is puddling with your pleasures, but you’re being so good for them, on all-fours, getting off on their treatment of you.

You’re objectified, exposed and whoreish, and quite frankly, you _love_ it.

“Gonna,” Eskel pants, his hips stuttering erratically, “M’gonna come again.” He has a sweet voice, quieter than Geralt’s, and you like the timbre of it. Purposefully, you rock back, clenching your sore muscles, and you feel his fingers squeeze your waist hard as he climaxes. His hot seed pulses thickly into your dripping pussy, filling you until it has nowhere else to go but back out around the tight seal of his twitching cock. Your legs tremble and you look up at Lambert, all wide wet eyes.

“Fuck, _don’t_ look at me like that,” Lambert growls, “So doe-eyed whilst— _hnng_ —whilst I’m balls deep in your slutty mouth.” You feel his cock thicken and throb as Eskel relaxes slightly behind you, although he does not withdraw from the cuddle of your cunt. Blinking sweetly, you slick your messy lips quickly up Lambert's length; once, twice, and feel him lose control on the third pass. He snarls, withdrawing from your mouth, and you obediently open your puffy lips so he can watch the streak of his come shoot in ribbons on your tongue, down your chin, splattering onto the floor. The entire time you hold his gaze, and he’s rocked by it, his sculpted abdomen fisting tightly as he holds you in place.

Eskel has begun to tease your clit, a lazy, languid circling that begins as something small and graduates into another set of tremors; with his cock still buried in you, and Lambert spending the last of his seed on your face, you peak again. Your eyes roll back as you openly keen, now your mouth isn’t full, and all three Witchers make a low sound of desire at the noises you make. Eskel is attentive, easing the pressure on your button when you become too sensitive.

And then both wolves pull from you completely, leaving you barely able to stay upright. But you can’t rest. Geralt hasn’t come yet.

“Did you enjoy my brothers, pretty pet?” His voice is so sinful that your walls flutter unconsciously; some of Eskel’s come weeps from your slit, dripping in a long string to the ground. You bob your head.

“Yes, master.” You whisper, “Very much, master.”

“We enjoyed _you_ , sweet thing.” Eskel’s words make you prickle with hot pride; you represent Geralt, and a compliment from his kin is incredibly flattering.

“Damn lovely mouth you have.” Lambert weighs in, “I’ll be distressed if I don’t feel it again, Geralt.”

“Wouldn’t want you put out, would I?” Your master’s voice is darkly amused. “Maybe I’ll bring her, one winter.”

You don’t know what that means – _bring you where?_ – but the thought of a repeat performance of this is absolutely one you wish to entertain. Quietly, you wait where you were left, until Geralt speaks again.

“Come here, my pet.” He commands, and you obey, crawling to sit between his splayed legs in a perfect kneel, with both your hands facing up on your thighs. You’re quite a sight; Lambert’s come is glistening on your chin, rolling down your neck, and Eskel’s spend is warm and plentiful between your slick thighs. You keep your gaze on Geralt’s medallion, knowing better than to seek his eyes unless given permission. In your periphery, you can see the two other wolves reclining on the bed, drinking ale, recharging.

“You did _so_ well.” Geralt praises, and again, you feel hot. You smile. “Did they make you feel good, lovely? How many times did you come on Eskel’s cock?”

“Six, master.” You purr, feeling the burn in your well-used pussy, adoring it. “He was most kind.”

“Hmm.” Geralt glances at his oldest friend, his mouth pulled into a smirk. “She likes you.”

Eskel drains his mug. “Then she has good taste.”

You want to compliment Lambert, too, but you won’t speak out of turn. He doesn’t seem to care anyway; his attention has turned to the platter of cheeses and fruit on the table.

“Where do you want me to come, my lovely pet?” The question is unexpected, for you’re not used to choice; it’s a reward, and you’re dizzy with the intent of it. He’s been edging this whole time, leaking precome and ready to burst; you know his load will be copious.

“May... may I lay back so that master can come on my whole body?” You request, and he growls lowly, all teeth in an upper-lip curl. You see the twitch of his dick and know you’d best get into position now; even as he’s nodding in the affirmative, you know your answer has destroyed the last of his control.

The first hot splash of his seed hits your tits before you’re even on the ground, and it’s followed quickly by more scalding ropes. You whimper as he strokes off above you, privy to the flush of his body as he’s taken by orgasm; it might be his own hand, but _you’re_ the reason he’s so worked up. The knowledge has you squirming as he groans, painting you pretty until you’re an absolute mess of spattered white. When he’s completely drained, he sits back down, regaining his breath with a few gasps.

You luxuriate in the feeling. Blissed out, you stroke Geralt’s come against your stomach, rubbing it into your skin. If you could purr, you think you would.

“She’s a wolf’s bitch now, Geralt.” Lambert notes, all sharp grin. You like the sound of the title.

“I know.” Geralt says, sounding proud. “Doesn’t she make a good one?”

The three Witchers make noises of agreement, and you _glow_. Winter, you think. How many months until winter?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I can also be found on tumblr: @inber


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